RWBY: A Brief Glimpse Into The Mad Mind Of Ezekiel White
by LuckyBullet
Summary: A one-shot from the point of view of my OC Ezekiel White as he finds himself once again in his favourite Saturday coffee shop with nothing but his haunting memories and visions on his mind.


"July 24th, I have now been waiting for twenty three years. As I reminisce I can't help but feel sorry for the young boy I used to be.

His first vision was nothing short of harmless, just a short observation of his mother walking in through the front door, a mysterious black bag in her grasp. He ran over to her and received a kiss on the cheek, a hug and a smile before she placed the black bag on the ground next to him and disappeared into the kitchen to put away the rest of the shopping. The boy opened the bag and inside there was the special edition Deathstalker and Nevermore twin set. Two toys that had just been released not three days prior, he was so happy; after all he would be the envy of all his friends. At least he was happy the first time.

The vision had spoiled his surprise, and yet even so, regardless of the content of the glimpse into the future, nothing would have allowed him to maintain focus on the toys he had been given. His naïve and foolish mind had already begun racing as he hyperactively thought of everything he could do in the world, everything he could prevent from happening so that no one else was left without a father or with a memory they would sooner forget. And yet he was just a kid blinded by fascination. I do not hold him responsible for his witless and unintelligent assumptions, because all he knew was that he could see into the future.

As life progressed he couldn't help but wonder why he just stood there and did nothing, he had witnessed Malcolm's savage assault on Harry that left the poor boy hospitalised because a brief spat over who actually owned Grimm Hunter 3D went too far. He had witnessed as he blindly loved and lost his first so-called girlfriend, and yet he did nothing to change her decision to leave him. Why didn't he try to change any of this? Why didn't I?

As the year's past by and I slowly matured my visions turned from pleasant surprises and warnings to the stuff of nightmares, outright haunting my every thought, fear gripping me as I watched on as my sister was killed in a car crash. She was twenty two years old; she had a life, a future, she wanted to be a doctor, had a peanut allergy, she even took classes in self defense and was training to use a katana. I had seen the accident unfold before my very eyes, by the time I was given reprieve from the horror I still had thirty five minutes to warn her before she made her way back home from the university she was attending. And yet I sat and I looked at that phone for an hour, and remained completely unfazed when the police knocked on the door and asked mom to identify the body.

That's one Christmas I will never forget… Perhaps it's because it was the first in which my older sister was absent, as was her cheery tone and ever entertaining tales of her relatively boring adventures. Or maybe it is because it was at that moment, where I sat there, my eyes locked on the phone, willing myself to pick it up and call her that I realised that I couldn't see into the future. I could see my destiny; every horrific deed that would ever be done to me, by me or to those around me. And yet I had absolutely no control as to the outcome of those visions. My influence over the future was just as non-existent as anyone else's. And that is the greatest horror of all.

Do you know what it's like to bear witness to the meaningless massacre of forty six innocent civilians, including seven children, five parents and nine other notable victims, all of them just like my long passed sister who had budding futures and nothing but hope and excitement glimmering in their eyes… only to find yourself gripping the hilt of a blade and taking a walk to the local leisure centre? No? I guess it's just me then.

I can still hear their screams. Then again I can still vividly recall every vision I have ever had, a scrap book without existence, a memento of all of my sins and pleasures, only acting as the catalyst for my own torture. The side of me that doesn't want this agonises over the pain and suffering caused by both my actions, and the rippling effect of them but that day resonates the loudest. The day in which I committed every crime I once dreamed of preventing.

The faces flash through my mind even today, the father whose throat I slit open, leaving his child as I was left from the age of four: without a male role model. The eight year old twins I left to drown in the pool as the help that should have arrived were gutted, their remains fed into the reddening swimming baths. The eighteen year old with a dash of freckles, long wavy red hair and piercing blue eyes who's expression went from joyful to horrified to sorrowful as I walked away, leaving her clutching the one person she cared most about; each disgusting image reminding me that these deeds were done by my hands. And yet I can't stray from this path of destruction and misery.

The human mind is a stubborn little thing, have you ever tried to change your own mind? No matter what I did it never did decide on a different ending to the chapter. Forcing an alteration of your own personal beliefs and motivations is the lone feat in this world that I truly believe to be an impossibility - no matter what I do the outcome is always the same as the one I witnessed moments before.

I guess that makes sense though. After all, your mind, your soul, your motivations and your body are what come together in an unbreakable bond to create you as an animal. Be it human, faunus, beast or monster. Maybe that is why I am so powerless over the events of my life to come that I crave to change, only to relinquish such thoughts almost immediately and begin to act out the next chapter of my story.

But why then, if such a concept proved true, have I tried four times now to defy destiny, only to fail in the end? Why, if this mind was purely made up of my own determination and free will, would I ever make attempt to stop myself from committing these atrocities? And why do I sit here on a Saturday morning once again, gazing out the coffee shop window and watching the world go round, just waiting in the vain hope that the next vision I experience will be my last…

Perhaps I will order a cappuccino or a hot chocolate since I'm here. That couldn't do any harm, right?"


End file.
